The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis Part 31

The dryness impressed d.i.c.k. They had dust here, as they had had it in Virginia, but there it was trampled up by great armies. Here it was raised by their own little party, and as the October winds swept across the dry fields it filled their eyes with particles. Yet it was one of the finest regions of the world, underlaid with vitalizing limestone, a land where the gra.s.s grows thick and long and does not die even in winter.

"If one were superst.i.tious," said d.i.c.k, "he could think it was a punishment sent upon us all for fighting so much, and for killing so many men about questions that lots of us don't understand, and that at least could have been settled in some other way."

"It's easy enough to imagine it so," said Warner in his precise way, "but after all, despite the reasons against it, here we are fighting and killing one another with a persistence that has never been surpa.s.sed.

It's a perfectly simple question in mathematics. Let x equal the anger of the South, let y equal the anger of the North, let 10 equal the percentage of reason, 100, of course, being the whole, then you have x + y + 10 equalling 100. The anger of the two sections is consequently x + y, equalling 100 - 10, or 90. When anger const.i.tutes 90 per cent., what chance has reason, which is only 10 per cent., or one-ninth of anger?"

"No chance at all," replied d.i.c.k. "That has already been proved without the aid of algebra. Here is a man in a cornfield signaling to us. I wonder what he wants?"

As d.i.c.k spoke, Colonel Winchester, who had already noticed the man, gave an order to stop. The stranger, bent and knotted by hard work on the farm, hurried toward them. He leaned against the fence a moment, gasping for breath, and then said:

"You're Union men, ain't you? It's no disguise?"

"Yes," replied Colonel Winchester, "we're Union men, and it's no disguise that we're wearing, Malachi White. I've seen you several times in Frankfort, selling hay."

The farmer, who had climbed upon the fence and who was sitting on the top rail, hands on his knees, stared at him open-mouthed.

"You've got my name right. Malachi White it is," he said, "suah enough, but I don't know yours. 'Pears to me, however, that they's somethin'

familiar about you. Mebbe it's the way you throw back your shoulders an'

look a fellow squah in the eyes."

Colonel Winchester smiled. No man is insensible to a compliment which is obviously spontaneous.

"I spent a night once at your house, Mr. White," he said. "I was going to Frankfort on horseback. I was overtaken at dusk by a storm and I reached your place just in time. I remember that I slept on a mighty soft feather bed, and ate a splendid breakfast in the morning."

Malachi White was not insensible to compliments either. He smiled, and the smile which merely showed his middle front teeth at first, gradually broadened until it showed all of them. Then it rippled and stretched in little waves, until it stopped somewhere near his ears. d.i.c.k regarded him with delight. It was the broadest and finest smile that he had seen in many a long month.

"Now I know you," said Malachi White, looking intently at the colonel.

"I ain't as strong on faces as some people, though I reckon I'm right strong on 'em, too, but I'm pow'ful strong on recollectin' hear'in', that is, the voice and the trick of it. It was fo' yea's ago when you stopped at my house. You had a curious trick of p.r.o.nouncin' r's when they wasn't no r's. You'd say door, an' hour, when ev'body knowed it was doah, an' houah, but I don't hold it ag'in you fo' not knowin' how to p.r.o.nounce them wo'ds. Yoh name is Ahthuh Winchestuh."

"As right as right can be," said Colonel Winchester, reaching over and giving him a hearty hand. "I'm a colonel in the Union army now, and these are my officers and men. What was it you wanted to tell us?"

"Not to ride on fuhthah. It ain't mo' than fifteen miles to Frankfort.

The place is plum full of the Johnnies. I seed 'em thah myself. Ki'by Smith, an' a sma't gen'ral he is, too, is thah, an' so's Bragg, who I don't know much 'bout. They's as thick as black be'ies in a patch, an'

they's all gettin ready fo' a gran' ma'ch an' display to-mo'ow when they sweah in the new Southe'n gove'nuh, Mistah Hawes. They've got out scouts, too, colonel, an' if you go on you'll run right squah into 'em an' be took, which I allow you don't want to happen, nohow."

"No, Malachi, I don't, nor do any of us, but we're going on and we don't mean to be taken. Most of the men know this country well. Two of them, in fact, were born in Frankfort."

"Then mebbe you kin look out fo' yo'selves, bein' as you are Kentuckians. I'm mighty strong fo' the Union myself, but a lot of them officers that came down from the no'th 'pear to tu'n into pow'ful fools when they git away from home, knowin' nothin' 'bout the country, an'

not willin' to lea'n. Always walkin' into traps. I guess they've nevah missed a single trap the rebels have planted. Sometimes I've been so mad 'bout it that I've felt like quittin' bein' a Yank an' tu'nin' to a Johnny. But somehow I've nevah been able to make up my mind to go ag'in my principles. Is Gen'ral Grant leadin' you?"

"No, General Buell."

"I'm so'y of that. Gen'ral Buell, f'om all I heah, is a good fightah, but slow. Liable to git thar, an' hit like all ta'nation, when it's a little mite too late. He's one of ouah own Kentuckians, an' I won't say anything ag'in him; not a wo'd, colonel, don't think that, but I've been pow'ful took with this fellow Grant. I ain't any sojah, myself, but I like the tales I heah 'bout him. When a fellow hits him he hits back ha'dah, then the fellow comes back with anothah ha'dah still, an' then Grant up an' hits him a wallop that you heah a mile, an' so on an' so on."

"You're right, Malachi. I was with him at Donelson and s.h.i.+loh and that's the way he did."

"I reckon it's the right way. Is it true, colonel, that he taps the ba'el?"

"Taps the barrel? What do you mean, Malachi?"

White put his hands hollowed out like a scoop to his mouth and turned up his face.

"I see," said Colonel Winchester, "and I'm glad to say no, Malachi. If he takes anything he takes water just like the rest of us."

"Pow'ful glad to heah it, but it ain't easy to get too much good watah this yeah. Nevah knowed such a dry season befoah, an' I was fifty-two yeahs old, three weeks an' one day ago yestuhday."

"Thank you, Malachi, for your warning. We'll be doubly careful, because of it, and I hope after this war is over to share your fine hospitality once more."

"You'll sho'ly be welcome an' ev'y man an' boy with you will be welcome, too. Fuhthah on, 'bout foah hund'ed yahds, you'll come to a path leadin'

into the woods. You take that path, colonel. It'll be sundown soon, an'

you follow it th'ough the night."

The two men shook hands again, and then the soldiers rode on at a brisk trot. Malachi White sat on the fence, looking at them from under the brim of his old straw hat, until they came to the path that he had indicated and disappeared in the woods. Then he sighed and walked back slowly to his house in the cornfield. Malachi White had no education, but he had much judgment and he was a philosopher.

But d.i.c.k and the others rode on through the forest, penetrating into the high and rough hills which were spa.r.s.ely inhabited. The nights, as it was now October, were cool, despite the heat and dust of the day, and they rode in a grateful silence. It was more than an hour after dark when Powell, one of the Frankforters, spoke:

"We can hit the old town by midnight easy enough," he said. "Unless they've stretched pretty wide lines of pickets I can lead you, sir, within four hundred yards of Frankfort, where you can stay under cover yourself and look right down into it. I guess by this good moonlight I could point out old Bragg himself, if he should be up and walking around the streets."

"That suits us, Powell," said Colonel Winchester. "You and May lead the way."

May was the other Frankforter and they took the task eagerly. They were about to look down upon home after an absence of more than a year, a year that was more than a normal ten. They were both young, not over twenty, and after a while they turned out of the path and led into the deep woods.

"It's open forest through here, no underbrush, colonel," said Powell, "and it makes easy riding. Besides, about a mile on there's a creek running down to the Kentucky that will have deep water in it, no matter how dry the season has been. Tom May and I have swum in it many a time, and I reckon our horses need water, colonel."

"So they do, and so do we. We'll stop a bit at this creek of yours, Powell."

The creek was all that the two Frankfort lads had claimed for it. It was two feet deep, clear, cold and swift, shadowed by great primeval trees.

Men and horses drank eagerly, and at last Colonel Winchester, feeling that there was neither danger nor the need of hurry, permitted them to undress and take a quick bath, which was a heavenly relief and stimulant, allowing them to get clear of the dust and dirt of the day.

"It's a beauty of a creek," said Powell to d.i.c.k. "About a half mile further down the stream is a tremendous tree on which is cut with a penknife, 'Dan'l Boone killed a bar here, June 26, 1781.' I found it myself, and I cut away enough of the bark growth with a penknife for it to show clearly. I imagine the great Daniel and Simon Kenton and Harrod and the rest killed lots of bears in these hills."

"I'd go and see that inscription in the morning," said d.i.c.k, "if I didn't have a bit of war on my hands."

"Maybe you'll have a chance later on. But I'm feeling bully after this cold bath. d.i.c.k, I came into the creek weighing two hundred and twenty-five pounds, one hundred and fifty pounds of human being and seventy-five pounds of dust and dirt. I'm back to one hundred and fifty now. Besides, I was fifty years old when I entered the stream, and I've returned to twenty."

"That just about describes me, too, but the colonel is whistling for us to come. Rush your jacket on and jump for your horse."

They had stayed about a half-hour at the creek, and about two o'clock in the morning Powell and May led them through a dense wood to the edge of a high hill.

"There's Frankfort below you," said May in a voice that trembled.

The night was brilliant, almost like day, and they saw the little city cl.u.s.tered along the banks of the Kentucky which flowed, a dark ribbon of blue. Their powerful gla.s.ses brought out everything distinctly. They saw the old state house, its trees, and in the open s.p.a.ces, tents standing by the dozens and scores. It was the division of Kirby Smith that occupied the town, and Bragg himself had made a triumphant entry. d.i.c.k wondered which house sheltered him. It was undoubtedly that of some prominent citizen, proud of the honor.

"Isn't it the snuggest and sweetest little place you ever saw?" said May. "Lend me your gla.s.ses a minute, please, d.i.c.k."

d.i.c.k handed them to him, and May took a long look, d.i.c.k noticed that the gla.s.ses remained directed toward a house among some trees near the river.

"You're looking at your home, are you not?" he asked.